


#5 Where do you think you're going?

by TemporaryDysphoria



Series: TD's Whumptober 2020 [5]
Category: Lupin III
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Death Threats, Flashback fic, M/M, On the Run, Whumptober 2020, angst no comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:34:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26928223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TemporaryDysphoria/pseuds/TemporaryDysphoria
Summary: Stupid, stupid Jigen.Stupid trusting Jigen.Stupid romantic Jigen - always hoping for the best, and forgetting to prepare for the worst.Day 5 of Whumptober. Prompt was: On the Run
Relationships: Jigen Daisuke/Arsène Lupin III
Series: TD's Whumptober 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947205
Comments: 1
Kudos: 45
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	#5 Where do you think you're going?

A quick break is the best kind of break. That’s what Jigen tells himself anyway. He’s let himself get tied up for too long with this flamboyant thief and now he’s paying the price. 

Shoes, socks, underwear, shirts. He folds the clothing half-heartedly before shoving them in his suitcase. 

_ Stupid, stupid Jigen.  _

_ Stupid trusting Jigen.  _

_ Stupid romantic Jigen - always hoping for the best, and forgetting to prepare for the worst _ . 

Of course there wasn’t going to be enough time. He hadn’t even made an effort to cover his tracks properly. He’d forgotten, somewhere in the whirlwind of adventure with Lupin,somewhere in the late night getaways, somewhere in the high speed car chases, the hair standing up on the back of his neck from the adrenaline, that he had a past. 

A deadly past. 

One that wasn’t ready to let him go just yet. 

He’d found the note three days ago. The first night, he drank until he couldn’t walk - hoping that when he woke up it would be gone. 

It wasn’t. It was still there, boring a hole into his pocket. Weighing down his morning coffee, making his fingers feel numb, lifeless. Lupin grabs his hand and drags him out for brunch, and the hand that until so recently felt like freedom, now feels like a chain. He shoves a cigarette into the corner of his mouth, and Lupin leans forward, lights it with his own, with a gleam in his eye. 

Jigen wishes it wouldn’t ignite. The cigarette, and his heart. 

“Y’know,” Lupin is saying, around a mouthful of pastry, “We should do something, to celebrate working together for so long. We’ve been partners for a year now, a  _ whole year! _ ”

Lupin barrels on, uncaring that he gets no response. He’s talking a mile a minute about banks in the Netherlands, museums in Slovenia, islands he wants to visit off of the Amalfi Coast and it’s all so fucking domestic that it makes Jigen want to gag and vomit and...

_ Never leave.  _

Because it’s been a year since he started working with Lupin, since they ran into each other on a job and decided to team up for a  _ once-off _ thing. A year since they’ve started bickering about who takes more sugar in their coffee, and who’s turn it is to buy fuel and booze and cigarettes. A year since the rewards from jobs became a 50/50 split instead of a winner takes all.

If anyone had asked Jigen a year ago, whether he’d be sticking around Lupin for a year, he would have told them to fuck off. Jigen wasn’t the marrying kind. He didn’t stay places. He didn’t make ties. He didn’t have roots anywhere. He came and went as he pleased, armed with his hat and his gun and his pride. 

But one job turned into two jobs. And two jobs turned into two months. And then all of a sudden, Lupin knows his breakfast order and how many smokes he needs before his morning coffee, and to his surprise and disgust, he finds that the knowledge is mutual ( _ one and a half cigarettes, one if he’s smoking Jigen’s _ ). He gets so good at reading the damn thief that they can carry a whole conversation with two words and a gesture. 

Then two months turns into three and they barely make it out of the country after a heist. Tree’s are whipping past them at what feels like warp speed as they race to the border. Lupin has his gun at the ready, sitting backwards in the front seat, long legs folded comically in the tiny space ( _ we need a bigger car Lupin, this is a clown car _ ). They make it across and reach the safehouse and they’re stumbling out, grabbing bags when a helicopter flies overhead. 

“Shit!” - “Fuck!”

Everything is dark, and the only thing Jigen can see is the cherry red end of Lupin’s cigarette, inches from his own face. The only thing he can hear is his own pulse, echoing in his ears, and Lupin’s shattered breathing from sprinting up the stairs. It’s been three months and he’s never had this much fun. It’s been three months and Lupin is grinning at him like a madman as he lights an old lantern with his cigarette, while he fights back a laugh at the absurdity of the situation. 

It’s been three months, and somewhere within that time, Jigen’s gone from tolerating this man to wanting to kiss him. 

He doesn’t know how long Lupin has wanted to kiss him, and he doesn’t really care. Because it’s been three months and they’re in fucking Russia, and Lupin is kissing him like he’s water and he’s dying of thirst. Gripping him like he’s going to break. Making him stumble backwards like he’s got two left feet at the high school dance before they fall onto a ratty mattress that's seen better days but it doesn’t matter because they’re here, they made it, they’re not dead. 

Three months turns into six months, turns into nine months, and then it’s the longest consecutive time Jigen’s spent with a single person in the last 20 years. 

Nine months turns into eleven months and then they’re back in France only they’re got an apartment with one bedroom this time, and Jigen  _ should _ feel something, anything, but he’s just happy. He’s happy and content, and they’ve got a job in two weeks but Lupin wanted to take a few days to see the seaside first and everything was just  _ hunky dory _ , until that fucking note. 

The note that brought everything crashing down around his ears. A threat. Something that not even Jigen, the king of running away, can run from. The kind of threat that will follow him across oceans, across continents, because he owes blood, and the syndicate doesn’t stop until it’s collected. He should know, after all. 

He used to be the one collecting. 

So he’s packing his bags, looking at the culmination of the last 12 months worth of memories and for possibly the first time ever he’s torn about whether he wants to leave. 

Lupin wanders in, in his sleep shirt and boxers, rubbing sleepy red eyes with the back of his hand. He’d fallen asleep on the couch and Jigen had left him there, hoping. 

“Whaddayadoin’?” He cocks his head to the side, brain catching up with his eyes, and that sharp sharp gaze narrows. 

Jigen doesn’t say a word, just shoves the last shirt in the suitcase. Lupin takes a step forward, now fully awake despite it being close to 2am. 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

His voice is still scratchy from sleep and it breaks Jigen’s heart. 

“Gotta go.” He says, and hopes that Lupin won’t ask anymore questions. Won’t ask him to stay because he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to say no. 

The silence in the room is deafening. Lupin’s eyes are trained on the note now, which is a good thing because Jigen can’t meet his gaze. 

“St-”

Jigen holds a hand up, Lupin’s close enough for the movement to tap his chin and stop him finishing the damned word. 

“Don’t.” Jigen says. “Just, don’t.”

That downcast gaze is burning a hole into the back of his neck as he lifts the suitcase, and adjusts the revolver in his belt. Lupin doesn’t say a word, but he does follow. He follows Jigen to the bathroom, stares adamantly at the window while he takes a piss, washes his hands, splashes water on his face. Follows him to the kitchen, and then to the tiny entrance hall of the apartment and it’s only when Jigen’s about to close the front door behind him that he says, in the tiniest, voice Jigen has ever heard from this loud, flamboyant man. 

“Just, don’t stay on the run forever...”

Jigen wasn’t going to look at him. Wasn’t going to give in to his ruthless, useless heart’s desire. 

“Partner.”

The door clicks shut and so does Jigen’s heart. At least, that’s what he tells himself. It’s just the rain streaming down his face because he’s looking up at the clouds. 

Just the damn rain. 


End file.
